The morning routine:  I staggered out of bed to take my mother’s coffee to her. Took my 7 morning pills, then took the breakfast tray from my husband and delivered it to my mother. She’s old. Staggered back to my room to give myself a couple of shots. No, not alcohol. Insulin. That done, I semi-staggered to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee, came to my recliner and sat. It is now almost lunchtime. I did get up once to refill the coffee cup, and it’s time to do that again! I must remember to take a few more trips around the house to avoid calluses on my posterior portion, and quad petrification.

My husband will fix lunch, I will take mom’s to her – she’s old – and after lunch I will probably lie down and watch tv and nap a bit. I will get up and wander aimlessly for a few minutes, then let the animals out, making a pit stop before fixing something for my mother’s dinner. She’s old. After taking it in to her, I try to visit with her for a while if I haven’t already done so.

Having let the cat and dog out a few more times, I will head back to the bedroom for more lying down and watching my evening selections on tv.  I’ll take my bedtime ration of medications, (only 6 pills) and enjoy stabbing myself a couple more times, make another bathroom visit, and generally will not fall asleep until I hear my husband pull into the garage. In reality, which I like to avoid, it’s my husband’s Jeep I hear pulling into the garage. I’m usually sleeping when he comes to bed except in the warm weather when I have to run the air conditioner to survive.

When I say I have to run the air conditioner I mean just that. Toward the end of last summer it stopped listening to my needs and wants. Once it started cooling it wouldn’t stop. It doesn’t matter where the temp is set, the darn thing will just run until I change its mode to fan only. I can no longer leave it running untended. Last year was worse as the remote had gone missing and I had to leave my comfortable spot and cross the room to make the appropriate adjustments.  This year the remote crawled out of its hiding place and spends much time in my hand where I confuse it with the (much larger) television remote and try to change channels with it.  Or I attempt to stop the ringing of the telephone by pushing a button and putting the thing to my ear, all the while hearing the continuing ring. Ack. 

My mom has an extension in her room, but moves even more slowly than I do. Once she gets the phone in her hand, she will not answer it until she knows who is calling but cannot read the caller ID. By the time she remembers she can barely see, the caller has hung up. We have a lot of calls go to voice mail just because she’s old.

I digressed. Big surprise. I think I covered the basics. Most of my days are about the same. If it were not for those days that are not the same I would have lost all of my marbles years ago. This week I enjoyed one of the different days. We went to the airport to welcome my son home. I think I hate Afghanistan as much as he does. It was a good day!

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